March 4th

Priming The Pump For Inspiration The well of Providence is deep. It's the buckets we bring to it that are small ~Mary Webb

Apparently creating an atmosphere to write is necessary to activate the right brain and to do what it takes to get the creative juices flowing. Some people need to do a ritual and do the same thing each time to get them into their place. Me? I can write anywhere, anytime and anything. Like now on the couch while everyone else is watching hockey (Dallas & Flames tied at 2 with 2 minutes left in the game, not that I care). I don't need mood music, lit candles and a cup of green tea to get me in the mood to write. I'm always in the mood. Maybe I could be more creative if I did create a reassuring ritual and a ceremony of comfort that inspired the spirit of my authentic self, but until I suffer from writers block, I think I'm good to go for now. This may not be a bright and shining moment in literature, but it's me, it's mine and it's... oh wait, yesterday's chapter spoke of hubris..an "exaggerated sense of self confidence". Well it's not a matter of confidence but complacency I guess. I am what I am what I am....that usually comes before a humbling. A heart attack is certainly very humbling, and it does not surprise me in the least that heart disease is now the leading killer of women.

My friend Lana had a heart attack at the age of 50 and at that moment, smoked her last cigarette. A month later, I followed suit. My Grandma Laval had a heart attack when I was attending University of Winnipeg just before I turned 20. You would think I would have taken better care of myself since then but I only quit for 3 years in 2000 and have now quit since Sept 21st. Hopefully it's not too little too late.

Time Smoke-Free: 165 days, 2 hours, 6 minutes 49 seconds
Cigarettes not smoke: 2476
Money Saved: $1089.00
Lifetime Saved: 18 Days, 21 Hours

Look at that. I have now gained more time to write in my daily blog/journal. Lucky me! Lucky you! NOT! lol

I've been writing since I was 12. From songs to Davy Jones to essays about rabbits in Grade 3. From romance novels on my Dad's old typewriter to blogs on the computer. My parents were both musician, and my Mum was an English teacher and my Dad taught French. I got corrected no matter what language I spoke! Pretty much the only French I know is the first page of the Grade 7 French text book that I memorized. I regret not learning my family's native tongue. Mind you it's not really French but Waloon as my Father's family was from Belgium (my Mother's family was from England and Scotland.)

Family roots are the ties that bind and the fabric that weaves your past and future. My family fostered creativity from day one and I am thankful for my upbringing that appreciated the arts and encouraged creativity and authenticity.